


Roots growing deep

by Maracuya



Series: The Roots of Fate [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2018-02-22 04:45:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 13,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2494952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maracuya/pseuds/Maracuya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel of "And suddenly, everything was different". I won't be able to update regularly, but at least I wanted to get started. Hope you'll enjoy the second part of my AU story.</p><p>Sandor and Sansa have got an established relationship at Clegane Keep and they've survived the winter. They've also good connections to Casterly Rock. One should think they're living the "happily ever after" part - but there will always be problems and dangers in Westeros... and once again, those problems and dangers are closing in on them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some of my stories have been stolen from me and have been posted on another homepage without my consent. I hereby declare that so far, the stories haven’t been taken down from that homepage despite my explicit wish to delete them. Any profit that person is making has got nothing to do with me and is being acquired against my will. I hereby condemn this kind of behavior. It is effectively blocking my creativity. Do not visit such a website, please. At this point, I’ve got no intention to take down my stories here, so going there has got no point.
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything and will never make any profit from this. All the credits go to GRRM.

**Spring**

 

Sandor looked up at the ceiling as if he could see through the mortar, the stones, the wooden beams. Above him was his bedroom where he knew Sansa would be. His mouth twitched and his hand crumpled the message that had come from the Rock.

Fuck, why did the Lions have to call him now, of all times? How could he leave his wife behind? Even if it wasn't far to the Lannisters, he didn't want to be gone. Besides, you never knew with the golden-haired bigwigs were up to, if they didn't send you even further away. One only had to listen to the rumours about Aegon Targaryen's movements to assume that the Crown would want to reactivate the Hound rather sooner than later.

Sandor cursed under his breath. Sure it would be nice to see Brienne and little Selwyn again, and perhaps it would even be acceptable to share some Arbor gold with the Kingslayer at the “Seashell” in Lannisport, but Sandor knew he wouldn't be able to enjoy himself.

 

Behind him, the door opened with a little squeak.

“Father?”

Sandor turned around and looked at his daughter Sondra-Jayne. The girl had just celebrated her fourth nameday and was already very mature – and Clegane-sized – for her age.

“Yes, nestling, what is it?”

“Ayella has baked lemon cakes. Do you want one? Can I bring mother one?”

“Lemon cakes? How's that possible?”

“Ayella says they're the first spring lemons from D... D...”

“Dorne?”

The little girl clapped her hands and nodded.

“Yes, yes, Dorne!”

Sandor suppressed a sigh.

“All right, nestling, bring me two cakes. One for me and one for your mother. I'll give her the treat myself.”

His daughter wrinkled her brow.

“Is mother sad again?”

 

Sandor looked out of the window. Sansa was depressed all the time these days. He himself felt raw on the inside, too, and he couldn't even fathom what the recent miscarriage meant for his wife.

Sondra-Jeyne read his expression correctly.

In a subdued voice, she asked: “Can I bring Eddor a lemon cake then?”

“If you want to – and if you can lure him into taking one. Is he with Cembara?”

His daughter nodded once more. Well, it wasn't a surprise. Cembara, the healer, had set up a room in Clegane Keep where she kept her herbs, glass bottles with medicines and potions, salves, crucibles and certain other tools she needed for her profession. Under normal circumstances, Sandor wouldn't have let his two-year-old son stay where he could reach and swallow something poisonous – but Sansa was in such a deplorable condition that she didn't take care of the child at the moment. Moreover, Eddor wasn't like other boys, which meant that chances were small he'd do something to himself by accident. And finally, Cembara was always having an eye to the child.

 

Sandor's thoughts returned to his daughter. He knelt and embraced her. In contrast to Eddor, Sondra-Jeyne always wanted to be hugged. True enough, she gave him a hearty kiss on the cheek and didn't care one whit that it was his burned one. Next, she dashed out to fetch the lemon cakes.

His daughter caused him to smile, though the merryment didn't reach his eyes.

He thought: “Her favourite treat would do Sansa good. If we don't pay attention her old eating disorder might break through again. I can't let that happen. Fuck, and the Lions want me at the Rock! They can all bugger their arses with a hot poker.”

 

Some moments later, Sondra-Jeyne was back and pressed two lemon cakes into his paws with her pudgy fingers. There were telltale crumbs in the corners of her mouth, which caused Sandor to smile in earnest and to wipe her lips.

“Ayella is spoiling you, nestling. I'll have a word with the woman.”

“Please, father, don't be angry,” his daughter begged, afraid he might punish the old cook.

“Do I look angry? Like an angry hound?” he asked.

“No. But can you make the 'doggy dad'?”

Sandor screwed up his eyes.

“Not again!”

“Oh yes, oh yes, please!”

So Sandor bent forward, looked into his daughter's eyes and barked: “Woooof! Woooof!”

Sondra-Jeyne squealed in delight, gave him another kiss and left, surely to secure a second lemon cake for herself and one for Eddor.

 

Sandor's gaze lingered on the door for another moment, then his look wandered to the wrinkled paper ball that had fallen to the ground while he had been dealing with his girl.

“Fuck! Fuck them all!” he growled, wolfed down his cake and made for his bedroom with the second one to meet Sansa.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told myself I should focus on my other duties, but the muse struck me down with a picket, so to speak.

With careful movements he opened the door to their bedroom lest he frighten his wife.

“Little bird?”

 

He saw the curves of her body in bed. Now, as a grown woman, her hips were broader and her breasts fuller, something Sandor adored (like he adored every single inch of her anyway), and he considered her to be the greatest beauty in Westeros; however, he had not indulged in her physical charms in an intimate way for more than three months now.

First, when she had been pregnant, she had always been so sick, and ever since she had lost the child she had been too depressed. To be honest, he himself hadn't been in the mood either. This was something the bloody romantic songs never addressed: that in a marriage there were times when you didn't crave your love's embrace.

 

There was a sigh from the bed. Next, Sansa turned around and looked at him with her Tully blue eyes. She tried to smile, but faltered.

“So finally it's happening. Gendry will marry Myrcella.”

Her voice was rife with bitter-sweet feelings.

“Who did you warg into this time?”

“Brienne. She was talking to Jaime about the upcoming wedding while playing with little Selwyn. And... and she's pregnant again!”

 

Oh.

This explained Sansa's recent emotional state. As the message he had received had not given any details, her words also enlightened him some more about why he had been called to Casterly Rock.

“I see,” Sandor murmured. “But talking of children – Sondra-Jayne has just given me a lemon cake for you. And you can't deny your daughter's treat, can you?”

There was a hint of a true smile around the corners of Sansa's mouth now. She took the cake and nibbled on it, though she remained listless with regard to the food.

 

“She's such a sweet girl, and I'm such a bad mother for her. The recent developments... this is all at her expense.”

“Bloody rubbish. You're not a bad mother, little bird. Forget that shit at once. No, it's just that you've been weighed down by too many things. You and Sondra-Jayne should accompany me to the Rock for a change.”

 

Sansa looked at him in horror.

“I can't leave Eddor alone! My little baby! I can't leave without taking him along.”

Sandor pressed his fist against the forehead and looked out of the window.

“You know what he's like, Sansa. Once he leaves Clegane Keep he starts to scream and is out of his mind. So you can't take him to the Rock. But think about it: he won't miss you much either. Give him his toy blocks to arrange them in patterns, and he'll forget the world around him.”

 

Sansa hung her head, sensing the truth in his words. It ate at her soul that Eddor didn't react much to people, didn't smile, didn't look at them, didn't like his parents' hugs, and lived in his own abstract world of rules, traditions and patterns.

Sandor remembered how they had been so overjoyed when he had been born and had appeared to be strong and healthy. How they had not understood his endless tantrums at first, how they had become worried about his weird reactions – or rather the lack thereof. Their healer Cembara had been the one who had started to develop a theory about what was wrong with the child and had conferred with Maester Creylen from Casterly Rock... and the physician had confirmed her suspicions.

 

They had all been shattered by the news, and he and Sansa had realised that one of Coldhand's dark predictions had come true: that they would have a child that wouldn't be normal. Sansa's recent miscarriage had only confirmed the undead man's premonitions. At least their daughter developed well and gave them happiness and made them proud. Nobody could ever understand how dead Gregor had been able to sire such a sweet, amiable child.

The ghost of Sandor's cruel brother had been driven away from Clegane Keep for some years now. Sondra was told that she had a second mother in the seven heavens and a second father in the seven hells, and that Sansa and Sandor were her “earth parents”.

At some point, the truth about their daughter's origin would become a burden for the girl, but Sandor saw no point in keeping the truth from her, because it would only increase the shock in the future.

 

His thoughts returned to his wife when Sansa said: “But I'll only stay with you until after Myrcella's and Gendry's wedding and return then at once. Cembara will keep Eddor safe, won't she?”  
Sandor nodded.

“Yes. She's a good woman.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed. Sansa clambered onto his knees, put her arms around him and leaned her cheek against his collarbone. Sandor combed through her fiery tresses, inhaled her scent and kissed her crown.

“We can pack a few things today and start in the morning. We don't need much.”

Sansa looked up at him.

“Sondra will be so happy to meet little Selwyn again. Yes, I guess your idea is a good one – only I wish it would all be easier with regard to Eddor.”

“I know, little bird.”

 

Sansa reached up with her head and kissed him.

Sandor hummed. Yesssss... this was good. So good.

Their kisses became deeper, more longing. They lay back together on the bed. Their hands started to roam over each other's body.

Sandor presumed that it was still too early to fuck Sansa properly – yet, he didn't object to some sweet little games. His own body was telling him that it had been neglected and wanted to catch up with its needs.  
His wife understood him without words, opened his breeches and took him in her hand. Sandor's humming turned into gasps. It was a relief to be able to rediscover these aspects of their relationship.

With quick fingers he uncovered Sansa's breasts and started to kiss and to lick and to suckle her nipples while he was mirroring her caresses further down. He could tell that she was still guarded and didn't trust her body... but she trusted him, and over the years he had become deft enough when it came to pleasuring his wife.

 

Sandor came first, but as soon as he had recovered he carried on with his own efforts. Some minutes later, he was rewarded with Sansa's moans and ecstatic spasms. Like so many times before he thought that there was nothing more delightful in this world than to watch her peak.

Once the little bird was coming back to her senses, they kissed some more and Sandor murmured against her swollen lips: “Any pain?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“I was afraid it would be different.”

“I know. But now we know there's nothing to fear. Still, I'll be careful when it comes to my cock the next time.”

Sansa rubbed her nose into the opening of his tunic so that she was trailing through some tufts of his chest hair.

“We must tell the others about our plans,” she said.

“Right. Lets get up and set things to work.”

 

When Sansa rearranged her clothes and left the bedroom with him Sandor thought that her gait was more determined than it had been for weeks, and his eyes were bright.

 

“Mother, mother, did you like my lemon cake?”

Sondra-Jayne was lurking in the kitchen.

Sansa smiled and said: “Yes, very much so – and look, I feel better now.”

“Yaaaay!” the girl exclaimed, burst forwards and hang around the little bird's neck seconds later.

 

Sandor smirked and asked his daughter: “What would you say, Sondra, if we visited Casterly Rock?”

At once, the child was thrilled.

“Really, father? Oh please, can I come? Can I play with Selwyn?”

“Sure! He'll be happy to see you.”

Their girl was so overjoyed then that she let go of her mother and started to twirl around her own axis in the kitchen.

 

The old cook, Ayella, who had been standing in silence near the hearth fire, spoke up: “I'll prepare some provisions for the voyage then, my lord.”

Sandor nodded.

“That's just what I wanted to ask you to do. In the meantime, I'll talk to the others. Perhaps we should ask Aengus, if he wants to accompany us. He hasn't been to Lannisport for ages, what with the harsh winter weather, and he might want to visit his relatives and friends there.”

“That's a good idea, Sandor,” Sansa said. “He can return to the keep with me then with your latest orders. By now, the weather is good enough, so that the carriage and his chair-on-wheels won't get stuck in the snow or the mud any more. And Falcon will be able to keep business running here for a few days.”

Sandor could only agree.

“Fine. Let's see where my castellan is. You start packing, little bird. See you for dinner.”

They kissed, and Sandor made for Aengus Cronhold's solar to discuss the matter with him.

 

On his way, he kept mulling things over. Lannisport – it would be a good opportunity to have a look at the “Seashell”, his tavern in the city. He had received reports that told him the inn was popular and making money, more even than he had anticipated, but it was always better to check in on the affairs personally from time to time.

 

Yet, despite all the positive aspects he was supposing that his presence at the Lannister family estate implied more than the mere attending of a wedding. He harrumphed. There was no use crossing the bridges before you came to them. Time would tell him soon enough what the Lions from the Rock were up to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got no first-hand experience, so I hope that my description of the clinical picture of Eddor's autism is realistic enough. Please tell me, if I've made any obvious mistakes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't have the time to do this. But I was desperate.

Things were arranged soon enough. Aengus Cronhold started to beam at once when Sandor asked him whether he wanted to come along to Lannisport. As far as this was possible between a lord and his castellan, the man had become his friend – perhaps this had something to do with the fact that life had marked them both: Sandor with facial burns, Aengus with the loss of his legs. There was some deep mutual understanding between them that often didn't need many words.

Thus, it was no wonder when Aengus leaned forward in his chair-on-wheels, grinned, winked and murmured: “It's not as if I don't love my wife and my children, Lord Sandor, but for once, I'll be relieved to have a few days without the little ones.”

Sandor chuckled. The loss of his legs didn't mean Aengus was bereft of another appendage: ever since he and his wife had arrived at Clegane Keep they had made a baby more or less every twelve moons. Once, Sandor had accidentally caught his charming trickster of a castellan right in the act – in the stable and at night. As if he hadn't been married for years already and one should think the spouses should have calmed down with regard to adventurous episodes. Ah, well, it was no hair off Sandor's arse, as long as all the work at the keep was done properly.

 

And now, he himself was just as happy to travel in a little group. It meant that they could play some cards, or throw the dice on the road in the evening after having set up camp. To make things even better: Pearl and Wispa, Lady's and Moonlight's children, would accompany them as well. On previous winter voyages they had already proven to be attentive and fierce sentries... and comfortable heat sources. Besides, Sondra-Jayne loved to have the animals around.

 

They next morning, they set off. Sansa hugged Lady, who would stay behind with her blind mate, and the direwolf licked her face. Sondra-Jayne followed her mother's example.

 

They had already said good-bye to Eddor. It was difficult for Sandor to leave his son behind, even though he knew it was better this way.

The child, who didn't feature the typical Clegane size, but who looked very similar to him in all other ways, had already been sitting in Cembara's room and had been arranging some stones according to size and colours. Sandor would have loved to embrace him, but knew better than to give in to his wish. Eddor was too sensitive for this type of caress.

 

“We'll be gone for a few days, son. But we'll be back soon. And we'll bring you a present. Would you love to have a present?”

Like always, Eddor had showed no immediate signs whether he had heard or understood.

Then, he had said: “WispaWispaWispa.”

He wasn't good at talking, but the direwolf-crossbreed was special to him, that much they had found out. The animal often lay down next to the child at a safe distance, watching over Sandor's son, and Sansa had started to suspect of late that Eddor was a warg and loved to run with the half-wolf in his dreams at night. Often, the boy was much more peaceful and content in the mornings. Cembara had pointed out that if this was true, perhaps Eddor had found a link to the world after all.

“Wispa will come along with us to Casterly Rock. Do you remember? Casterly Rock, where the Lannisters live. The Lions of Lannister. Shall I bring you a toy lion from Casterly Rock?”

“LionLionLion,” the boy had said without looking up.

Sandor had taken it as a “yes” and had left with a sigh.

 

The voyage turned out to be uneventful, if you didn't count that during these early spring days the temperatures were fine as long as the sun was shining, but still bone-chilling at night. He and Sondra-Jayne and Sansa huddled together in their tent under heaps of extra furs and clad into various layers of clothes while the animals stayed with Aengus to keep him warm.

Once, the cart of his castellan got stuck in the sloshy, cold mud on the road, but with joined forces they were able to free the vehicle within minutes.

 

Finally, they could see Lannisport and Casterly Rock in front of them. Sondra, who had been patient before, squealed in delight and sudden excitement.

“Father, father, look! The Rock! We're coming closer to Selwyn!”

“Yes, nestling, that's right,” Sandor said.

Sansa gazed sideways at their daughter and smiled. Sandor's heart leapt at seeing his little bird in such a serene mood.

 

When they reached the town they said goodbye to Aengus, who was capable of reaching his relatives on his own, and started their ascent to the fortress cowering atop on the hill near the city. A short while later, they saw a rider trot into their direction.

Of course, it was Sondra-Jayne, who had to yell: “Uncle Jaime! Uncle Jaime!”

Sandor grunted and mumbled towards Sansa: “Here she goes. Our daughter humouring the bloody Lions again. Look at the Kingslayer's smirk!”

The little bird giggled and put a finger to her lips.

 

Once Jaime had reached them he clapped Sandor on his shoulder as best he could with his left paw and while sitting on a horse.

“Hound! Coming back to our kennels for once?”

“Got my own kennel. No need to sniff at your arses all the time.”

“Sandor!” Sansa chided – and Sondra-Jayne laughed loudly.

 

That led to Jaime putting on a big show.

“Why – who is this young lady? Are you Arya Stark?”

“Nooooo, I'm not Auntie Arya.”

Jaime batted his eyelashes and put his good hand on his heart.

“What!? So you must be... Sondra-Jayne! No, that's impossible! And tall enough for your own pony. On my oath – you're already one head bigger than our Selwyn.”

“Your oath doesn't count much, Kingslayer, but I'll believe you for once,” Sandor cut in.

 

Jaime screwed up his eyes.

“How very generous of you, Hound. And now, let's greet that lovely wife of yours. Lady Sansa. How good to see you again. It's been too long since we last met.”

“You may blame the winter, Ser Jaime... amongst other things.”

The heir of the Rock arched his eyebrow, became more serious and nodded.

“It makes us even happier now that you're able to accompany your husband, and we feel deeply honoured.”

Jaime took Sansa's hand and kissed it in a gallant way.

“Go on like that, Kingslayer, and I'll inform your giant wife about your behaviour, so we can beat you to a pulp with joint forces.”

Jaime laughed.

“Still the 'charming' Dog of old.”

“He always makes 'woof-woof' to me,” Sondra-Jayne pointed out.

“Oh, great, undermine my authority,” Sandor rumbled... and the Kingslayer nearly pissed his breeches in glee.

 

A short while later, they reached the entrance gate of the fortress, which looked like a lion's maw. Once, they reached the inner courtyard they were greeted by a beaming Lady Brienne. The tall woman was wearing leather breeches and a tunic. Her second pregnancy wasn't obvious yet, but she was... no, not beautiful, she'd never be that, but radiant with happiness. She was one of those people where you turned your head when she entered a room.

One night, when they had been in their cups on a previous visit, Jaime had told him how little self-confidence Brienne had had at the beginning of their wedded life. Not the slightest trace of insecurity could be noticed about her any more. And when the Kingslayer looked up at his wife his green eyes were shimmering with adoration – ongoing bickering and banter between them notwithstanding.

 

“Where's Selwyn? Where's Selwyn?” Sondra asked Brienne and dismounted her pony.

The warrior woman laughed and said: “He's with Tyane and Gwydion and will be thrilled to meet you.”

Sondra's eyes glittered with joyous anticipation, and her looks darted back and forth. Then, her pupils focused on something... or somebody and widened in recognition.

Sandor turned his head and saw a silhouette against the sunlight.

“Uh-oh,” he thought. “May the spectacle begin.”

 

The next moment, his daughter's explosive laughter reverberated in the yard.

“Uncle Tywin! Uncle Tywin!”

Sondra's comparatively long legs picked up speed, and with a wild sprint she threw herself at the probably most dangerous man in Westeros – the King of the Westerlands. So forceful was her impact that the Old Lion staggered.

Tywin Lannister looked at the child who was clinging to him and asked in his clipped, sharp voice: “When will you learn to address me as 'Your Grace'?”

“And when will you give me a welcome kiss? YOUR GRACE.”

The next moment, Wispa and Pearl darted into the old man's direction – they had picked up Lady's behaviour with regard to Tywin Lannister.

Sandor palmed his face.


	4. Chapter 4

Later, the Old Lion, his surviving son, Brienne, Sansa and Sandor met in the King's solar. Sondra-Jayne was already gone playing with the king's little twins and Jaime's son and had taken the direwolf crossbreeds with her. Queen Lollys was overseeing them.

 

“When will the wedding between Gendry and Myrcella take place?” Sandor asked.

“In about a sevennight,” King Tywin said. “Just a small ceremony because of Myrcella's... descent.”

He looked sideways at Jaime, who appeared to be very interested in the fingernails of his left hand and kept his mouth shut for once.

 

“Where are the two lovebirds?” Sansa asked.

Brienne answered: “In Lannisport with Kevan. Gendry has turned into an elegant man, just you wait and see.”

 

Sandor wasn't impressed in the least and only hoped that the lad hadn't turned into an arrogant, foppish courtier. It was almost a relief when the king's snort indicated that Gendry's development wasn't as perfect as the tall warrior woman had indicated.

 

Besides, Sandor wanted to get to the far more pressing topics.

“Great, so there will be this marriage. Which other news have you got from the Seven Kingdoms?”

King Tywin leaned back in his massive chair and pressed his fingertips together.

“Spring is always a good time for betrothals and marriages. There has been a raven from a spy on the Eyrie, saying that a match between Lord Robert Arryn and Lady Margaery Tyrell is being planned.”

 

Sandor whistled as best he could with his half-burned lips.

“Isn't the lad still a bit young?”

“Weren't Lady Sansa and Lady Arya a bit young, too?”

The sarcasm in the king's voice cut off Sandor effectively.

And Tywin Lannister went on: “The age is less of a problem than Lord Robert's... state.”

At once, Sansa wanted to know more about her cousin: “What do you mean, Your Grace?”

The elder man cleared his throat and answered: “He is retarded, mentally and physically. To make things worse, shoving people to their deaths from the heights of the Eyrie is a source of entertainment for him. And your aunt has become too addled over the years and is incapable of educating the boy.”

 

In answer to this revelation, Sansa pressed her hand onto her mouth.

Sandor only arched an eyebrow. He remembered his last meeting with Lady Lysa's emissary, Bronze Yohn, during the Coucil of the Kings, right after the destruction of King's Landing, and he wasn't surprised. Even then, Lady Lysa had neither been willing nor able to attend the meetings herself.

Yet, there was one detail that posed a bit of a riddle to him.

“How come the Roses might be willing to give her sweet flower to such a boy? Doesn't strike me as something the clever Tyrells from Highgarden would do.”

 

At that, King Tywin shot him a respectful look.

“Well,” he said,” normally not – but if there's a lack of eligible men for an excellent match...”

Sansa wrinkled her brow.

“But my uncle Edmure is King in Riverrun and he's not m... – Your Grace, is there something I don't know?”

Tywin Lannister inclined his head.

“For someone with your special abilities, Lady Sansa, I'm astonished you don't know about it already. Some days ago I learned that your uncle is betrothed to Roslin Frey.”

 

Sansa's jaw sagged.

Once again, Sandor thought back to the Council of the Kings, and he remembered darkly that the stupid trout had got to know the woman in question there.

 

Meanwhile, the King of the Westerlands went on: “The wedding should take place in about six months, judging by the state of things. Invitations should reach us soon. I can imagine that Lady Arya and your parents might want to travel south, too, Lady Sansa. A good opportunity to meet your father again after this long winter, and to get to know your baby sister.”

 

Sandor saw his little wife's face lit up with joy, and he could understand her well. Ned Stark had been able to get his wife with child once more after his return to Winterfell and after the further recovery from his fall out of a window back in King's Landing. The baby had been born in mid-winter, and it was only natural Sansa would want to see the girl.

 

Enthusiastically, Sansa clapped her hands together and chimed: “Oh, and in summer we'll have Bran's and Lady Shireen's wedding! It all sounds so exciting! These will be wonderful times for Westeros.”

In answer to this, Jaime laughed: “Well, the young generation will be taking over soon, by the looks of it.”

King Tywin looked sour – as if he didn't want to be reminded of the fact that he was slowly getting old.

 

Sandor scratched his thigh. As interesting as all these details were – he had not heard anything about the crucial details yet.

So he asked: “And Aegon Targaryen?”

At once, the mood in the room darkened.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I haven't written for so long. Real life has been intense of late (no, nothing to worry about). Hope you haven't forgotten my little sequel. :-)

The news with regard to the Targaryen usurper at Storm's End weren't good. The young man was raiding the coast of the Stormlands, and he had got Tarth under his control. Brienne's father Selwyn was in exile now and resided at Casterly Rock permanently to be close to his daughter.

To make things worse, this Aegon had started negotiations with Dorne. The Dornish had been close to the Targaryens in the past, so it wasn't much of a surprise. Rumours had it that one of Oberyn Martell's bastards, one of the so-called “Sand Snakes” had become Aegon's lover. This was even more relevant, because the Tyrells and the people from Sunspear were still at war.

And since the Roses from Highgarden were still bickering with Edmure Tully over the Crownlands and the ruins of King's Landing the Tyrells were doubtlessly unhappy that they weren't given the chance for a marriage option, what with the Trout intending to marry Roslin Frey. As a consequence, the Roses presently weren't growing as strong as they would have liked.

 

Coming back to the more pressing problems considering the self-proclaimed new Targaryen king Sandor and the others discussed the gossip of the young man trying to breed a dragon egg he had purchased in Essos. So far, no scaly little monster had hatched, which was fortunate enough.

“I wish there were no dragons in this world. But since I don't have a choice on that matter I'm happy the three existing ones are with Lord Commander Jon Snow at the Wall. In a neutral place. Not with the enemy.”

Those were Sandor's thoughts on the matter. King Tywin agreed, and so did the others.

 

“Do you have any immediate plans on how to deal with the Dragon spawn in the Stormlands, Your Grace?” Sandor asked.

King Tywin weighed his head.

“Lady Brienne has got no access to Tarth, to her heritage, and I don't like the taste of it. At the same time, I don't want to draw any direct attention to the Rock.”

 

Sansa smiled on hearing those words.

“I'm relieved you're not considering open war at the moment. You're very wise, Your Grace.”

The little bird and the king exchanged a knowing glance, and Sandor understood: King Tywin was resorting to other means of undermining the influence of the young Targaryen – stealthy means that would likely cost less peoples' lives and less resources, but which would be just as dangerous.

“I believe your father isn't content with my... more subtle methods, Lady Sansa. He considers them less honourable. I hope you'll speak in favour of my policy when we travel to Riverrun for King Edmure's wedding.”

Sansa nodded at that and smiled.

“It is my very personal interest not to see my husband risking his life in yet another battle.”

Sandor snorted.

“I'm not a doddering old man yet,” he growled.

Sansa pressed his arm gently.

“We all know that. And we also know that you're the head of a growing family now. You will have to defend us, sure – but only if there is no other chance.”

Sandor's jaws worked. He knew his wife was in league with the Old Lion's policy at the moment, so there was nothing he could do about it. Fuck.

 

Talk meandered to the recent developments at Clegane Keep, the Rock and Lannisport.

Jaime pointed out with a smirk: “You should go and see the 'Seashell', Sandor. Has become a great inn. I never fail to stop there when I'm in town. After all, the taxes come right back to us. And the service is flawless, as is the taste of food and drink. It was one of your better ideas to bring back the old low dive to life.”

Sandor grinned back at the one-pawed Lion. Yes, the 'Seashell' was successful and providing a nice extra income to the money his fief had slowly started to make, even if it was nowhere comparable to running more shady establishments or trading with weapons. For Sandor, the profit was acceptable enough.

 

“And how are the little cubs?” Sansa wanted to know.

Brienne laughed.

“Selwyn is doing fine! If only he hadn't inherited his father's sense of humour.”

Jaime chuckled at that and added: “And he's already interested in swords and fighting and riding. He's also got Brienne's good heart, that much becomes clearer by the day.”

Brienne blushed and Sandor couldn't help but smile a little. He had already suspected as much during their last visit: the boy had more of Tarth's stalwartness and less of the typical Lannister pride in him. Perhaps that would be good in the days to come.

 

“And Tyane and Gwydion?” Sansa asked the king.

Tywin Lannister's jaws clenched a little, and he looked out of the solar window.

“Ask my wife,” was all he said in answer to this.

Sandor coughed, and his hand nestled on the collar of his tunic. Why did his wife always have to ask the difficult questions?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short, little interim chapter. I needed something fluffy. No cliffy this time. Hope you can live with that. :-)

Later, they met Lady Brienne's father, the Evenstar. Lord Selwyn was telling his grandson and the other children a story, and the little ones were listening with rapt attention. At first sight, the man looked jolly enough in his interaction with the children, but on closer inspection, one could feel an air of sadness about him.

It was obvious Sondra-Jayne had noticed it, too, being such a sensitive child. She had clambered on Lord Selwyn's knees and was pressing herself against him. The man smiled and ruffled her dark locks.

 

Sandor grinned and enjoyed watching the scenery for a moment. Once the story had ended and the children were content, he spoke: “Lord Selwyn, would you mind a joint sparring unit?”

The other one put Sondra-Jayne down and got a hearty kiss on his cheek before the girl dashed away to run after Gwydion on his short, wobbly legs.

“Sure,” Lord Selwyn answered. “Some training will do me good. I'm just not the young man I used to be.”

“I imagine you can still put down quite a few younger men,” Sandor answered.

The Evenstar smiled and clapped him on the back.

“Didn't take you for a sweettalker, Lord Clegane. Your cute little daughter and your wife must have a softening influence on you.”

“Say that again, and I'll show you in the training yard how soft I am,” Sandor grumbled.

Lord Selwyn uttered an amused snort.

 

From somewhere close by the children's laughter could be heard.

The Evenstar said: “Your Sondra-Jayne has got the gift of chasing dark clouds away.”

Sandor nodded.

“That's true. She's a real ray of sunshine.”

Lord Selwyn shot him a side glance.

“I heard she's actually the Mountain's daughter? Unbelievable he was able to sire –”

“Sondra-Jayne is my daughter,” Sandor cut in.

Lord Selwyn was wise enough to change the topic at this point.

“She reminds me of Brienne at that age. Tall and strong for her age, and a good heart. Do you intend to teach her how to fight?”

“Sure. She's already interested, and she's got a very good eye. She might be good at throwing axes in the future. But there will still be much water flowing down the Red Fork before that happens.”

“That's true. I only wished the king were as loving with his children as Jaime and you are with yours. It's a pity he disapproves of Tyane's wildness whereas he tolerates Sondra-Jayne. And Gwydion...”

Sandor sighed.

“He's too similar to his uncle Tyrion. And it pains the king to see that Jaime has remained the only normal son. Though “normal” is a relative category. Considering your goodson's fatherly feelings I don't want to go into the historical details. Let's better have a look at the weapons in the armoury.”

Lord Selwyn also preferred not to dwell on the Kingslayer's incestuous bastard children. Within some fifteen minutes they were more or less armed and hacking at each other.

 

Later, when Sandor returned to his chamber Sansa was standing there waiting for him, hands on her hips and tapping her foot.

“Lord Sandor Clegane, you look like a swine, and we have to be on time for the evening dinner.”

Uh-oh. The little bird was pretty pissed off. Well, what could he do? He had had such a good time during the training session that he had not noticed it was getting late. At his keep he didn't have much of a chance for a good fight.

Sandor tried to grin as best he could, scarred man that he was, and growled: “Perhaps you want to speed up the process by taking off my clothes?”

“Do you think I'll allow you to bring your dirt into the room? And besides I thought you had already bathed in the barracks since it was getting so late, and I had had my bath water removed. No. Off to the public bath with you. And here are your good clothes. No! Don't put your grubby paws onto them. Ask a servant to carry them.”

 

Sandor grumbled something unintelligible into his non-existent beard. Seven bloody hells, when had his sweet wife turned into a shrew? He was just about to snarl back at her when she whistled on her fingers and Wispa appeared on the spot, tongue lolling out.

“There's a good one. Wispa, accompany Sandor to the bath.”

The wolfdog yapped in a frantic voice. Wispa loved baths. Fuck, he had lost the battle, Sandor knew.

 

“I'll take revenge later, wife,” he muttered.

Sansa answered: “If you behave in the evening, perhaps I won't let Wispa sleep in my bed instead of you.”

Sandor threw his hands into the air and stomped off.

 

In the baths, he met the Kingslayer. Jaime and himself had taken turns at sparring with Lord Selwyn.

“Has your wife thrown you out as well?” the one-handed man asked with a smirk.

Sandor shot back: “Can you remind me of why I wanted to marry this bloody harridan of a woman?”

Jaime chuckled: “Oh, but you didn't want to marry her. You were – how shall I put it – ensnared.”

“Keep your bleeding mouth shut, Kingslayer. Do I need to tell you again that it was your bastard of a son who –”

“All right, all right.” Jaime held up his hand and his stump. “Peace. Let's get this bath over before our wives turn even more vicious.”

On hearing the word “bath”, Wispa whined, ran, jumped...

… and Sandor swore: “Seven hells, we were talking of a bath, not of a shower, you flea-infested giant half-dog!”

Wispa only barked – it sounded like laughter – and was heaving the fun of his life.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In need of some sexy SanSan fluff.

Later, the grown-ups were all in the great hall and enjoyed their dinner. As a nod to Sansa's Tully heritage on her mother's side there was baked trout in a garlicky sauce.

When Sansa started to eat from it Sandor murmured into her ear: “I better eat some of it now, too. That way I won't notice your stink.”

“Pfft,” Sansa made and gave him a little clap on the arm, but she was smiling at him.

Her mood had improved ever since they had left Clegane Keep, and it gladdened Sandor's heart.

 

While they were enjoying the food – sea brass, grilled mutton fillets, creamy pea soup with saffron from Essos, buckwheat with herbs and eggs, cinnamon plum cream and lemon gelatin – Sansa was chatting with Queen Lollys.

Though King Tywin's wife wasn't the brightest card in the deck she had developed such a positive aura during her marriage with the Old Lion that she was just the right partner for conversation for the Little Bird. They could even talk about raising children without Sansa becoming depressive again. After all, Lollys was having a hard time, too, since she had birthed twins that didn't live up to Tywin's expectations. Even so, she didn't allow herself to feel... lacking. More surprising than that, Lollys still loved her husband and kept trying to influence his attitudes with regard to Gwydion and Tyane.

 

After the meal had been finished, the tables were carried to the sides.

It was at that moment that Sansa murmured into Sandor's ear: “I'll take Queen Lollys as a good example. Her inner strength is most inspiring.”

In reaction to that, Sandor put his hand on the small of Sansa's back.

“Your inner strength is inspiring, too. You've been through so much. A time of mourning isn't a sign of weakness, you know? Why, you've even been strong enough to come back from the undead.”

Sansa grimaced when she was reminded of her warging into Coldhands in the past.

 

To distract her of that memory again, Sandor put his arms around his Little Bird and held her close, not giving a bleeding fig about showing his love for her in public.

 

Some moments later, he heard the nearby pling and plong of a few musical instruments that were being prepared for some dancing. At once, Sansa looked up at him, her eyes bright.

“Oh fuck, I'll have to hobble around with her again!” he grumbled inwardly.

 

King Tywin didn't look any more enthusiastic about the prospect of dancing, but he obviously considered it to be an occasional necessity to show off his Lannister elegance. Brienne and Jaime, by contrast, had found their personal mode for dancing – despite Jaime's lack of a hand.

More people from court lined up to participate in the activity, and off they went as soon as the first merry tune emanated from the musicians.

 

Later that night, Sansa and Sandor returned to their room in high spirits... and both were pretty tipsy, too. No sooner had the chamber door closed behind them than his wife was fumbling on his good olive tunic.  
“Is the Little Bird daring tonight?” Sandor teased her and grinned.

Sansa smiled back at him with eyes glassy from too much Arbor gold and chirped: “Daring? No. But hungry to see my delicious husband. The Little Bird is interested in some seed, you know?”

 

She giggled, and Sandor coughed. He couldn't believe his ladylike, sweet wife had become so brazen. However, he wasn't a dog to pull his tail between his legs in a duel. Especially not in its contemporary condition.

So he answered: “Seed? Is that the way of it? You're aiming for the wrong piece of clothes then. I'd advise you to open my trou... ah!”

Drunk or not – Sansa's fingers were nimble enough to follow his words at top speed. And her mouth was... nothing less than eager.

In no time, Sansa had his bulky frame against the wall and him groaning in sheer bliss. He looked down at her shiny, auburn locks.

“Gods! There are moments – ah! – when you're as greedy as a Lannister – fuck! –, do you know that, Little Bird?”

 

Sansa lifted her head and looked up at him with her Tully blue eyes.

“Say that again, and you can use your hands.”

“You can't be so cruel, Little Bird, can you?”

“Not if you compensate me for that slight.”

 

Sandor chuckled, despite his arousal. Fuck, he was close.

“Have I ever been a tightwad?”

Sansa's eyes glittered.

Her oh so pink tongue shot out and circled his most sensitive spot. His body quivered in response, and he moaned.

“Fuck, Little Bird, relieve me, and I'll compensate you all bloody night long!”

 

That was what Sansa had been waiting for. Without further ado, she set to work with such ardour that Sandor's normally strong knees felt like jelly. Not knowing what to do with his hands, he pressed down Sansa's head. His jaws clenched – and then, he roared out his release.

 

After a long moment, Sansa stood straight again and said with a broad grin on her face: “Better? Shall we go to bed now? I do have an idea or two on how to proceed from here.”

Sandor laughed.

“Shit, what have I gotten myself into? But I guess what I'll offer you now is well deserved. Come here!”

 

Within minutes, Sandor had his wife moaning. Her rhapsodic reactions were a neverending source of joy for him. He tried his best to prolong the experience and was rewarded with a glorious peak of hers.

Her face was still flushed, and she was panting when he moved up at her side and asked with a wide houndish grin: “More? Perhaps the full programme this time? I have recovered enough.”

Sansa's eyes were radiant.

“Yes! Oh yes!”

 

That night, they didn't get much sleep. After the sad times at Clegane Keep following the last miscarriage they both needed to catch up with regard to bliss.

Before Sandor dozed off around the hour of the wolf he thought: “It's weird. Many bad things can happen to you. And yet – if you're in love and loved back it's sometimes so easy to be happy.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt the need to pick up on some loose ends from the last story.

In the morning, they met Myrcella and Gendry. Sure, they had encountered the couple during the previous evening meal and the dancing, but now, there was more time for talking. Myrcella and Sansa retreated to their baskets with needlework and started to chatter away. Sandor was glad about it. Another friendly soul to cheer up his wife.

 

Meanwhile, he and Gendry walked over to the training yard. How different the young man at Sandor's side was from the youngster he had met in Lannisport harbour years ago. How different – and yet the same.   
The Baratheon bastard was a grown man now, tall and even more muscled than in the past, his contours more defined, his dark hair as long as Sandor's, and additionally, he'd grown a beard. What had not changed was Gendry's seriousness. He was able to carry himself in an elegant way, but he didn't do it with the natural air of someone who had grown up as a nobleman.

When it came to fighting, the young man had improved a lot, and he had become a fighter to reckon with, but he couldn't compensate what he hadn't learned in his childhood. He was a decent swordsman, yes, but couldn't best people like Sandor Clegane, like Jaime before the loss of his hand... or like Brienne.

What had remained the same – or rather intensified – was that Gendry was still very much in love with his betrothed. And she with him. Sandor had once given his former smith a volume of “Lady Rysaya's Romances”, the erotic story collection that had helped to enlighten Sansa during the early days of their marriage.

Sandor had meant to inform the two young lovers of what they could do to enjoy themselves and each other before their marriage without risking an untimely pregnancy. After all, the two were now at an age where they had fully developed their physical needs. The two men never talked about the book and the effects it might or might not have had; but Sandor knew Myrcella had breathed lots of juicy details to Sansa. According to the Lannister woman Gendry was a god in certain respects. That caused Sandor to snicker to himself.

“Still waters run deep,” he thought.

 

Later, he and Sansa rode into town to look for a nice wedding present for the couple. They quarrelled about what was good for them both. In the end, they decided on something that reminded Sansa of home: a precious weirwood box with northern-style carvings and silver inlays.

Sandor also used the opportunity to purchase a toy lion for little Eddor. Now that the Lannisters weren't only the Wardens of the West anymore, but a royal family, their sigil was omnipresent; thus, it was easy enough to find the gift for his son.

 

When his wife was back at the castle, Sandor went on a second tour: to his inn, the “Seashell”. There, he met the publican, Lilyrose, the first whore he had had, back when he had been a youngster at the Rock.  
As soon as he opened the door of the tavern, he was exposed to the loud chatter and laughter of many people. The commoners were gathering here, many sailors, but also workers from everywhere in Lannisport. It was always good to see how popular the “Seashell” was, even though he could always tell from the profit it made.

 

Behind the counter, Sandor noticed two male faces, which belonged to a child and a grown, scarred man. The former was Lilyrose's son, an intelligent fellow and quite the amiable rascal, which was no surprise, given his upbringing. In contrast, Sandor was far less happy about the man at his side than he was about the boy.

 

As soon as the man saw him, he started to grin.

“Lord Clegane, back in town to control your property? Lilyrose is in the kitchen with little Ginna, baking some herb rolls. Shall I get her?”

“Yes, Bronn. You can fetch both of them, actually.”

 

After the sellsword had survived the big military intervention at Pyke – contrary to his former employer Tyrion – Bronn had come back to Lannisport. Oh, he did own a patch of land with a little house on the island; it had been his reward for helping defeat the Ironborn. However, Bronn had already fallen in love with Lilyrose before that campaign, and now, he lived together with her in the “Seashell”.

 

One look at Lilirose's swollen belly when she emerged from the kitchen told Sandor that the two were not only productive in connection to the tavern.

“When is it due?” Sandor asked.

Lilyrose, who had already grey hair and who was plump and older than him beamed and answered: “In 'bout two moons from now. Wonder if it'll be me last one. But look here, at me Ginna an' me Gared, aren't they growing like weed?”

 

They talked on for a while and Sandor gave each child a candy stick. Gared normally pretended to be all grown-up, but he wasn't above accepting a treat and simply classified it as “payment for his work in the tavern”.

Apart from that, Sandor spotted Barkor, Pearl's first-born wolfdog pup, who was nearly grown by now. He had given the animal to Lilyrose during his last visit when it had been about four months old. Little Gared had been charmed at once, and it was always good to know the “Seashell” had an extra guardian.

 

When Sandor left the inn his feet took him to the local graveyard where Aralene was buried, Lilyrose's first child – the daughter he had never got to know. He always came here when he was in Lannisport. He'd never be a religious man, but the place gave him room to contemplate things. Often, he also wondered why he was still alive, of all men, especially given the life he had led before he had met the little bird.

 

It had been a calm afternoon in town when Sandor returned to the Rock, and he felt as peaceful as a man possibly could... but when he returned, he noticed at once that the mood on the castle grounds was tense. Worse than that, his wife was the origin of this negative change.

 

Sansa was already waiting and fidgeting in the main yard and ran towards him as soon as Sandor dismounted Stranger.

“What is it?” he rasped and put his arms around his trembling wife.

“We've got a problem,” Sansa breathed.

“I had already come to that conclusion, wife. One only has to look at the faces of the people from the drawbridge to the stable-boy. Explain yourself.”

“I... I've warged. And this time, I've managed... I was inside Aegon Targaryen.”

Sandor stiffened, and his embrace started to resemble an iron clasp.

“You've already talked to the king?”

“Yes, of course,” Sansa said.

“And what did you tell him?”

 

Sansa breathed in and out.

“Do you remember the rumours of Aegon unsuccessfully trying to hatch out a dragon egg?”

“Those old stories? Why, sure.”

His wife looked up at him with her blue eyes, and Sandor knew the answer even before she said: “An hour ago, he's been successful.”


	9. Chapter 9

The following meeting was held in the dark mood that could be expected under such circumstances.

Kevan Lannister was the one who talked first: “Now that we know of Aegon Targaryen's dragon we must re-assess the situation and discuss the future, including possible courses of action. Ideas? Anyone?”

Sansa, who was allowed to be present, said: “Let me elaborate on the recent state of things. The animal is plum-coloured, with white markings. When the egg cracked Aegon was present. Maybe, he imprinted himself on the dragon baby, like it happens with birds, too.”

Under the table, Sandor patted her thigh because of the bird reference and brought a hint of innuendo into the moment, but it dissipated again the next instant.

 

Tywin – walking up and down, hands clasped behind his back – asked: “Since you had warged into the Targaryen impostor and were present during the process... might there be a chance that the dragon sensed you, and you imprinted yourself on him as well?”

Sansa lifted her hands in a defensive way.

“That's impossible to say. I don't know a thing about dragons. It's a pity we can't ask Tyrion anymore; he was a real expert about dragon lore.”

 

The king snorted.

“There's still your bastard brother at the Wall. We can ask him about his own dragons, can't we?”

Sansa nodded.

“Of course we can. But it will cost us precious time to send the ravens, and he's still learning new details about dragons every day.”

At that moment, Sandor cut in: “We're lucky the thing is still so tiny and can't cause much harm yet. And in comparison to the three fire wyrms in the North this one is alone. It's just a pity Jon can't send his own dragons to roast Aegon's arse. Fuck the Wall's neutrality.”

 

Next, it was Jaime who pointed with his good index finger in sudden excitement.

“We still have got Tyrion's books! I didn't have the heart to give them away to the Lord Commander after my brother's death, though I'm a lousy and rare reader at best. Still, we could try to find out more now.”

 

Tywin nodded his agreement.

“That's a useful idea. Jaime, Brienne, Sansa and Myrcella will dig into the books and scrolls in search of useful information. Son, don't make such a face; your weaker left sword hand doesn't recommend you for a fighting job.”

 

Sandor, who had been listening well, snapped his fingers.

“Maybe, I can offer you more help. My smith Falcon back at Clegane Keep has been experimenting with a duplicating machine for books. The method isn't perfect yet, but he can already reproduce single pages.”  
On hearing this, Tywin stood still and gazed at Sandor.

“Have the man come to the Rock at once.”

 

The idea of meeting his old friend Falcon again caused Gendry to show a rare smile, but he remained silent. Sandor could tell the lad was looking forward to experimenting with the one-armed man once more.

So Sandor said: “As you wish, your Grace. My castellan is in town. I'll send him home with the news. However, the man has got no legs, and my smith will need a means of transport and more help to get his duplicating machine here.”

Tywin arched an eyebrow.

“Two goldcloaks and a cart for you, if that's what's necessary. You've got a mighty soft spot for cripples. Then again, you've always been weird in an obscure way, Clegane. But let's return to the matter at hand.”

 

Sandor's blood started to boil, and his fists balled under the table, but Sansa noticed and cupped one of his hands with her own one. Thus, Sandor schooled his features like in the days of old when he had been a mere guard for the Lannister family. To assume his past behaviour was like putting on worn-out clothes that didn't fit anymore; yet, he told himself that a verbal escalation would do nobody any good, and even less so with Tywin Lannister involved.

 

In the meantime, the king turned to Brienne's father, the Evenstar. The man from Tarth had an intimate knowledge of the occupied Stormlands, especially of the coastline. The warrior woman added bits and pieces whenever her sire left out a detail.

This sort of information was invaluable in case an attack on Dragonstone couldn't be avoided. And Tywin Lannister was clever enough to go through all the possible options at length beforehand, so as to be prepared and to be able to make important decisions in an instant.

“The Old Lion still doesn't show any moss on his shoulders, that's for sure,” Sandor mused. “If only he weren't such an arrogant bugger.”

 

In the end, no official measures were taken right away – apart from sifting through mildewy books about dragons, that was. Still, Sandor could feel it in his bones that the King of the Westerlands would resort to his own ways.

“If I were Aegon Targaryen or a dragon baby I'd watch out for assassins,” Sandor thought when they left the council room.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, it's been a while, I know - but here's a new chapter. :-)

For the next two days, Sansa worked full-time for King Tywin: in the mornings and afternoons, she and her companions skimmed through late Tyrion Lannister's books, and at night, she tried to warg into Aegon Targaryen in her dreams. Both tasks were tiresome. On the one hand, many volumes only contained broad information on the subject of raising and keeping dragons, or the little pieces of information were scattered over the scrolls like needles in a heap of hay. On the other hand, Sansa couldn't always control who she warged into. It was easier with people she knew well, and distances played a role as well.

On the first night, Sansa ended up in Jaime's son Tommen, who resided on the Quiet Isle and who was about to become a monk. The lad was watching a sheep birthing lambs and seemingly quite at ease. While Jaime was happy to learn of his bastard son's development, King Tywin wasn't happy that progress wasn't made faster.

 

In the meantime, Sandor used the time to train a lot. At the Rock, it was much easier to stay... well, not fit in general, but to hone the craft of fighting; and Sandor had a feeling that he hadn't participated in his last battle yet.

 

Apart from that, he and the Evenstar also had an eye on Sondra-Jayne and the other children: they taught them how to fight.

Little Gwydion had had a sword custom-made for him and would pick up his uncle's armour when he was older. Thanks to Jaime's tales, Tyrion was quickly turning into a shining idol for the little boy, because the elder dwarf had participated in fights despite his disfigurement and had been intelligent besides. Sandor wasn't happy about this approach, but at the same time, he could understand the boy's yearning for a positive example – and even more so because of his father's rejection.

 

On the second night, Sansa finally managed to warg into Aegon. When she woke up with a squeak next to Sandor, his eyes shot open, too, and he asked her at once what she had seen.

“Aegon – he was with his council. Jon Connington and Nymeria Sand were amongst them,” Sansa breathed. “And the dragon was on Aegon's arm. At the moment, it still looks so harmless, but one can already see it possesses everything a monstrous dread will need in the future: scales, talons, fangs... oh my...”

 

“Did the men say anything about what they're planning, love?”

Sansa breathed in and out.

“As a matter of fact, they did. They were discussing how to gain more influence on the continent for Aegon.”

Sandor growled.

“I don't like the tune you're singing, little bird, but do go on.”

 

Sansa nodded, and her eyelashes fluttered.

“The rest of the song is even worse. As you know, they've conquered Tarth and Storm's End and have pillaged the fishing villages. Aegon has got support from Dorne and the Golden Company in Essos, and he hasn't only been hatching a dragon egg, but new plans as well. He wants to take Massey's Hook to get a grip on Blackwater Bay.”

 

Sandor's eybrows rose and he uttered a whistle that came out all warbled because of the burnt corner of his mouth.

“Does he want to invade his old family seat Dragonstone to make a point? After all, there is no King's Landing to conquer anymore.”

 

Sansa shook her head.

“He thinks Dragonstone might fall into his lap if it's cut off from the mainland. No, he's aiming for Duskendale.”

Sandor blew out the air and cursed.

“Seven Hells, I'm under the impression Lord Rykker should get a raven with a fair warning, and soon. Duskendale would mean rich booty for Aegon, and a nice harbour with a maritime axis to Pentos.”

Sansa agreed: “Yes! And – to make things worse – his real aim is Harrenhal. Fertile land and a central position in Westeros. That's priceless from a tactical point of view, Aegon said. He hopes to win over several inland lords on the way, especially the lords of the Crownlands, who have suffered from the fights between the Riverlands and the Reach.”

 

On hearing these news, Sandor uttered a dark growl. He grabbed Sansa's arm, pulled her out of bed and handed her a simple dress that could be donned quickly.

“Let's wake King Tywin from his slumber. He'll be most interested in what you've got to say. And I daresay the news will leave him in an even more piss-poor mood than usual.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been ages, I know. But finally, I'm coming back to my big project. I've re-read everything, I've made private annotations for myself, and on this base, I've made a detailed plan of the upcoming plot. That has taken a while, but I hope it'll help.

The next days, all the people who King Tywin had given the task to study possible source material sifted through old volumes. They all did their best, but the bits and pieces on dragonlore was scattered like a lost herd of sheep. Sandor tried to help them along as best he could whenever he wasn't training. He wasn't a learned man, but he did know his letters.

 

It was after four days when Jaime breathed in sharply while reading one of his deceased brother's books.

“What is it?” the little bird asked at once.

The Kingslayer cocked his head.

“This old-fashioned language is killing me, and I don't understand half of what it says here, but there's something on a dead dragon.”

 

At once, Sansa grabbed the book. She was the most bibliophile person in the room and was good at picking her way through the old wording.

Sandor watched his wife furrow her brow while trying to decipher the text.

 

After a moment, she looked up at them all and said, “If I translate it into modern language, it says that there was once a man called Melos Parting. As a child, he suffered from Greyscales, but survived the illness. Pretty much like Shireen Baratheon if you ask me. Anyway. According to the maesters, he wasn't contagious anymore. So he walked about King's Landing, even if the people shunned him for his grey, scaly skin.”

Sandor growled and knew all too well what this Melos Parting must have felt like.

Meanwhile, Sansa continued, “He was a loyal subject of the Targaryens, a commoner, and he was interested in the dragons. So he often went to the dragon pit to get a glimpse of the animals. Once, he got into contact with one of the animals... and the animals caught Greyscales at once. What wasn't contagious for humans anymore was still deadly for dragons. The respective animal died by turning into stone.”

 

They all gasped on hearing the news.

Brienne said, “We must warn Jon of this danger. And Shireen must never get close to Jon's dragons.”

“What became of this Melos?” Sandor wanted to know.

Sansa looked at him.

“The dragon burned him right after it had fallen ill. The text also says that the illness proceeded much more quickly than it does around humans. The dragon died within days.”

Sandor harrumphed. Given what he'd heard about Greyscales, it was probably a blessing in disguise if a victim didn't have to suffer for long.

 

Aloud, he muttered in a sarcastic voice, “In that case, we should send Shireen Baratheon to Aegon Shithead to see what she can do about this plum-coloured beast.”

“Sandor, this is not funny!” Sansa reprimanded him.

Of course, Jaime had to jest, “Ah, Sandor hasn't invented humour, you know?”

And Brienne retorted, “Given the quality of your comments, you haven't either.”

Sansa held up her hands and rolled up her eyes.

“Oh please, can we come back to the topic at hand? This is serious!”

 

The Kingslayer sighed.

“I'll inform my father of what we've found out. Little as it is. Still better than nothing. I don't want to get my arse roasted, be it by a dragon or by my father.”

 

While Jaime was away, the others continued to read old books as there was no time to lose. After a while, the one-handed former knight returned and was uncharacteristically taciturn. He simply continued to read his book and didn't answer any questions. Of course, Sandor became curious at once.

On their way to the great hall for dinner, Sandor waited for the women to walk ahead of them, and Brienne's long legs and her speed were helpful here.

Once they had a quiet moment, Sandor addressed the Kingslayer under his breath.

“Let me guess: you didn't want to upset our gentle-hearted ladies?”

The fair-haired man glowered at him and nodded.

“My father was most interested in what I had to tell him. He says that Sireen Baratheon isn't the only Greyscale survivor; he intends to find someone like her and to send that someone to Aegon and his dragon.”

 

Sandor breathed in and out. He had a clear idea of how King Tywin would induce a – probably unwilling person – to carry out his order. No wonder Jaime hadn't breathed a word of it all around the women.

Scratching his hooked nose, Sandor replied, “Ask your father to at least try a decent payment or something of the sort first.”

Jaime blew the air through his nose.

“That's what I've already done. I hope your wife won't find out anything bad by warging.”

 

That was Sandor's exact worry, too. But there was little he could do for now. So he and Jaime approached the dais in the great hall where the women were just in the process of sitting down, and lacking all other options, the men focused on food and drink.

 


	12. Chapter 12

The next day, Falcon arrived with a cart and a huge construction on it. Most of it was wooden, but some parts were also made of metal.

“Falcon! Good to see you! How's Eddor? How are the others? And is this the apparatus you've concocted for the reproduction of written text?” Sandor greeted the man. “When we left at Clegane Keep you were nowhere near as far with this thing.”

The one-armed smith beamed at his liege lord and told him that Eddor was as fine as he could possibly be, considering the circumstances. And the others were all right, too.

 

Next, Falcon turned to his invention.

“It's still just a model, but it does already work. See, this frame is the heart of my machine, so to speak.”Falcon pointed. “You put some wooden plates in there into which you've etched the pictures and the text you want to reproduce. The tricky thing is that the letters have to be mirror-inverted. And of course it takes a while to do the etching. But once the wooden plate is ready, you can colour the protruding parts. And then, you take a sheet of paper, press it onto the coloured plate – and then, you can read the text. You can make hundreds and hundreds of copies within a very short time. What would take weeks by handwriting only takes a day or two now.”

 

Sandor didn't interrupt Falcon's enthusiastic sermon once, because he was interested in the technical details.

He walked around the cart, looked at every angle of the construction and said, “Marvellous. Falcon, you've surpassed yourself. Do you think we could use it for Myrcella's and Gendry's wedding in two days? For a little leaflet with a love poem for the two? 150 copies? That would highlight the usefulness of the construction in a most impressive way.”

 

Falcon scratched his beard.

“Mmmmmh... theoretically yes, but I need someone who can do the etching. I'm useless with my single hand.”

“We'll find someone,” Sandor asserted. “I'm sure Lady Brienne would like to try her hand at this. She likes manual labour and is restless, because she can't train properly, due to her pregnancy.”

The smith accepted the idea with a wide smile, but turned serious again the next instant.

“We won't have enough time to carve the wood away until the letters remain protruding. We'll have to etch the letters into the wood, so that most of the page will be black, and the letters will be white. I'm still pondering a more flexible system as well as a better quality of paper and colour, but I can't do magic.”

 

Sandor made a dismissive gesture.

“You've already done much and more. This will do for the time being.”

 

When Sansa learned of Sandor's and Falcon's idea, she was overjoyed.

“How romantic!” she exclaimed. “I just know the right poem for Gendry and Myrcella. It's a short rhyme from the North, beautiful and to the point.”

Sandor grinned until the burned corner of his mouth twitched.

“I knew we could count on your support. Oh, and Sansa – your handwriting is the neatest one around. Would you mind to write the model text on the wooden plate? Mirror-inverted?”

Now that proved to be a bit of a challenge for Sansa, because she had never written that way. With a little practice, however, she was able to carry out the task.

  
Falcon finished the leaflets at the hour of the wolf of Myrcella's and Gendry's big day. Around the time of the courtiers breaking their fast, the coloured pages had dried. Sandor was mighty proud of his smith.

 

Meanwhile, the whole castle was abuzz with activity. Servants put up flowery decorations, and the cooks in the kitchen were sweating in double shifts. King Tywin had planned a relatively small feast, because Myrcella and Gendry were both bastards – yet, it still meant quite a bit of splendour.

 

An hour before the ceremony at the sept, Sandor darted into the building and distributed his leaflets on the chairs and banks. Sansa and Sondra-Jayne would have loved to help him, but the maid was busy with the hair of Sandor's wife, and his daughter was still dripping from a bath.

 

The important point was that their little family was early in the sept – in due time to see the people's reactions when they discovered the pages on their seats. Just like Sandor had predicted it, there were big eyes and open mouths everywhere. Whispers fluttered back and forth – and King Tywin shot him a piercing look. Of course, the old lion had understood the origin of the poems at once.

“ _Looks like it'll mean a difficult talk with the king about the letter pressing apparatus in the near furture,”_ Sandor thought and knew he'd have to be on his guard.

Next, his mind snapped into the present again.

 

Jaime was standing next to his sire. The king had forbidden his son to lead Myrcella to the front, because Jaime shouldn't remind the courtiers of his daughter's incestuous origin. Instead, it was Kevan Lannister's honour and duty to accompany his grand niece to her bridegroom.

 

The septon who was about to carry out the ceremony appeared with a bowl with steaming scents that permeated the air. Sandor wrinkled his nose. This kind of stink in combination with the numerous people's sweat resulted in a most unholy mixture. Sadly, there was no helping it. Sandor cursed inwardly.

 

Finally, Gendry strode into the sept. Tall, muscled, controlled and serious, one could still detect a deep movement in his eyes. The young man was wearing a most elegant doublet and a matching coat in Baratheon colours with his new sigil: the smith's hammer morphing into an antler.

Sandor's mouth showed a somewhat melancholy smile: he remembered his own, far less joyful wedding day and granted Gendry these much happier circumstances.

 

Things became even more dramatic when Myrcella appeared on the doorstep of the sept. She was as beautiful a bride as one could possibly fathom, and King Tywin had obviously been willing to pay a fortune for her wedding dress. Golden yarn and colourful gems sparkled in the sun, and rubies adorned Myrcella's golden hair. Lannister colours.

The bride was beaming – and already crying tears of joy. In a world marked by arranged marriages Sandor had never seen a bride who radiated such unrestricted happiness. Sandor hoped that their love would stay with them in the years to come.

 

The ceremony began. A little sniffle at his side told Sandor Sansa was shedding a little happy tear as well. And he had to admit that even he himself was somewhat moved.

 

Finally, the wedding couple reached the point when Gendry removed the maiden's cloak and replaced it with his own one; they spoke their pledges, kissed, and the septon declared them husband and wife.

At that moment, the bells set in. Sandor arched an eyebrow in surprise. Normally, the bells rang only to announce a very happy or a very sad incident within the royal family – and King Tywin had not treated Myrcella as a proper family member ever since her true ancestry had become known.

“ _Looks like this is some king of wedding present from the old lion,”_ Sandor couldn't help but think.

 

The rest of the wedding day turned out to be as lovely as the ceremony at the sept. Some servants opened a cage with doves in the yard and sent them skywards. The food and music were opulent, and Sandor asked himself which new levels of splendour the king would reach in case of a real royal wedding. Ah, one probably only needed to find out more about King Tywin's and Queen Lollys' big day... but Sandor found out he wasn't overly curious.

 

In the evening, when the children had been sent to bed, Sandor naturally participated in the bedding ceremony – it turned out to be a rather tame thing. What was particularly entertaining was that Gendry blushed more than Myrcella when a flock of chattering women unclothed him and commented on his remarkable masculine assets.

 

In due time, the couple reached their suite, and Sandor returned to the dais to enjoy another goblet of wine.

He smirked at Sansa and commented, “Ah, I must say that our dear Myrcella has turned into a fucking beautiful woman.”

Sansa put her hands on her hips.

“Is that so?”

Sandor's eyes sparkled with impish delight, and he nodded.

“Oh yes! I mean – one must only look at her cleavage –”

Sansa smacked his arm, and Sandor grinned at her.

“I didn't say I'd want to fuck her. After all, I've still got the woman with the most beautiful teats in this room.”

“Sandor Clegane. You're balancing on a fine line here. A very fine one.”

“Let us retreat to our bedroom after this goblet so I can prove my point, dearest wife.”

“You better do that, husband. And you better do it competently. I mean – you don't want me to reconsider the quality of YOUR masculine assets, do you?”

 

That caused Sandor to growl, to shove his wine to the side, to grab Sansa's hand, and to drag her out of the Great Hall.

“I'll show you what a man you've got as your husband, rest assured.”

And that he did for the next two or three hours.

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one today. Hope you still enjoy the haggling.

The morning after Gendry's and Myrcella's wedding, King Tywin ordered Sansa and Sandor into his solar.

"Lord and Lady Clegane," he said in a cold tone, "this machine that can copy texts is both useful and necessary in the West. It's a strategic advantage if you've got such a means of multiplying information at your hand. But. The secret about the way it functions must be kept safe, otherwise this strategic advantage will get lost at once. What's more: there must be some sort of control so that only the right things can be multiplied."

  
  


Sandor knew at once that the king wouldn't condone any publications that were critical of his policy. He had already discussed these aspects with Falcon. After all, they wanted to keep their heads on their shoulders.

For that reason, Sandor nodded and said, “I can understand you well, Your Grace. These are valid points. Thankfully, my smith is a most loyal man, and Clegane keep is secluded and unimportant enough – the secret of the machine's mechanism will be safe there.”

  
  


The king blew the air threw the nose.

“Pah! What good would the machine do me if you transferred it back to your kennels in the middle of nowhere? And what would happen if someone attacked your home? I've got no need to remind you of how the Ironborn once tried to ambush you. And while I've managed to turn Pyke into the “Iron Colony”, there way still be gangs of outlaws who are just waiting to attack a lesser keep. No, that machine of yours must stay here in the capital. Your smith will teach someone else how it all works; only then can he return to your keep.”

Sandor placed his hand on his swordbelt.

“Your Grace, I'm willing to serve you, and I'm a loyal man. But this is my smith's invention, and he has put the greatest efforts into this project. If you want to use it, we'd need some compensation for his labour – and I demand certain privileges with regard to the multiplying machine.”

  
  


King Tywin cocked his head and gazed at them.

“You'll get the dozenth part of everything I earn with the machine.”

Sansa lifted a finger.

“A tenth – be it winnings in the form of money, naturalia, or reputation. And we decide who operates the machine and where it is positioned here in Lannisport.”

The king inclined his head.

“You may look beautiful and gentle, Lady Sansa, but you're a cold negotiator.”

Sansa looked back at the monarch and said, “I've picked up a thing or two from the examples around me.”

  
  


In the end, they agreed on the financial winnings of every eleventh part, as well as the privilege to operate and to position the machine in Lannisport. It was the best deal they could have reached.

“I'll have the machine taken to “The Seashell”. Falcon can stay in a room there, too, for the time being,” Sandor murmured into Sansa's ear when they left the king's presence.

Sansa nodded and pressed Sandor's large hand.

“You did well,” she lauded him under her breath.

Once again, it had proven an advantage that Sandor had got a foot in the capital with his business.

  
  


Now that this point had been settled, they decided to return to Clegane Keep. They wouldn't be able to stay long, because they'd have to leave for Riverrun and for Edmure Tully's and Roslin Frey's wedding soon. Still, the spouses felt the intense need to see their son Eddor again.

So the little family left the Rock in the early morning hours of the next day, heading home.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!

On their way back to Clegane Keep, Sansa felt unwell all day. Sandor was worried at once. Thankfully, Aengus Crohnhold, who they had picked up in town, kept Sondra-Jayne busy with all sorts of stories and anecdotes.

When they arrived at the Keep, Sansa and Sandor stormed to Cembara's rooms at once, because Eddor would be there. And sure enough, their little son was sitting under Cembara's table where she prepared her medicine and potions. He didn't look up when they entered, but continued to draw patterns with his index finger around some carefully arranged walnuts. Sandor noticed how tears entered the corners of Sansa's eyes, and he could understand her well. They both wanted to cradle their child in their arms, but they also knew that Eddor would only start to scream, because he wouldn't be able to handle their affection.

So Sansa asked the healer, "Cembara! It's so good to see you again. Is everything all right at the keep? Has anything happened?"

 

The other woman smiled at her.

"As you can see, your son is well. Apart from the normal problems he's got he's been very well-behaved. There have been a few minor accidents among the villagers I had to cure, but nothing serious has occurred. Everyone is looking forward to the spring, and the farmers are starting to make their first preparations on the fields."

Sandor went onto his knees and approached his son.

"Eddor! Look who's back! Your mummy and your daddy are back!"

At first, there was no sign that his son had heard him, but then, the boy called, "Back, back, back!" He didn't look at Sandor, but the reactions still warmed the Hound's heart. He smiled.

"Yes, we're back, and look what I've brought you from the Lannisters - a toy lion!"

He placed the carved animal in front of his son. Apparently, he disturbed Eddor's patterns in the process, because the little one shoved the lion away forcefully and continued with his movements. At that moment, Wispa entered, wagged his tail, took the toy into his muzzle, and placed the lion in front of Eddor again. Eddor frowned, then grabbed the the wooden animal, and placed it amid the walnuts. Afterwards, he started a new pattern.

 

Sandor smiled.

"Gift accepted." He patted Wispa. "Good boy."

The direwolf crossbreed let his tongue loll out and grinned at his master.

 

At that moment, Cembara spoke up again.

"By the way, my lord, I've been thinking on Eddor's training. Perhaps his preferences for patterns can come in handy. For example, we could give him wooden letters so that he can trace them. That way, he might learn his alphabet."

Sandor's eyes widened, and he beamed at the healer.

"Why - that's a splendid idea! Cembara, do you know what a treasure you are? We can't thank you enough for all the little and bigger wonders you work here at the keep."

 

Laughing, the healer fended off the praise - but she turned serious at once when she noticed Sansa grimace.

"What is it, my lady?"

"I've felt a little sick all day. Nothing too bad, I just feel a bit uncomfortable."

"Let me examine you, my lady!" Cembara insisted.

Sandor agreed at once, even if Sansa said they were exaggerating.

 

When Cembara had finished probing and testing his wife, she smiled at them and said, "No need to be worried, my lady, my lord, it's nothing bad. It's actually something good, Lady Clegane: you're with child again."


End file.
